


Happy Halloween, Simon Spier

by FallenAngel184



Series: Love, Cross-Dressing [2]
Category: Love Simon (2018), Love Victor (TV 2020), Simonverse | Creekwood Series - Becky Albertalli
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Riding, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:42:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27287362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenAngel184/pseuds/FallenAngel184
Summary: Simon goes to a Halloween party in a dress. It's hot.Sequel toLove, Cross-Dressing
Relationships: Bram Greenfeld/Simon Spier
Series: Love, Cross-Dressing [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992340
Comments: 10
Kudos: 56





	Happy Halloween, Simon Spier

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaand here it is! The steamy sequel to _Love, Cross-Dressing_ that nobody asked for but I wrote anyway.
> 
> Happy Halloween y'all!

It’s Halloween tonight, and I’m kind of stupidly nervous. My mind is wandering all over the place, and I’m fidgeting, even though I know I should probably be focusing on the fact that Justin has a rather pointy pencil right next to my eyes. And speaking of—

“Hold still!” Justin smacks my shoulder lightly. “I know you’ve sat for eyeliner before, Theater Kid. What’s with the shifty eyes?”

“I don’t know, Justin, I’m nervous,” I admit, and I see his eyes soften. “I want to wear this costume, you know I do, but when I tried on your dress it was just with y’all, and this party is gonna be really big, and what if I look stupid? Or I have another panic attack or something? Or…” I hesitate here. I know what I’m about to say doesn’t make logical sense, but it’s still a worry, and it’s just Justin, so I keep going. “What if Bram doesn’t like the costume? I know that’s a stupid thing to worry about, it’s _Bram_ , but he hasn’t seen it yet, and.. and… what if I look stupid!” I’m breathing harder after I finish, and Justin has this look on his face like he wants to wrap me in a blanket burrito and feed me soup (which he has almost done before. I had the flu. Ivy convinced him it was unnecessary, thank god).

“Simon,” Justin starts, setting down the eyeliner pencil so he can place his palms on my cheeks and look me directly in the eyes. “Honey. You’ve started to deal with your trauma, you haven’t had a panic attack since the first time. You’ve tried on my dresses. And, baby, you are going to look _so_ fucking hot, everyone at that party is going to drop dead on sight. Including Bram. Actually, _especially_ Bram, Simon, that _eyeliner_? Those _legs_ in that dress and those _boots_? You’ve got nothing to worry about, baby, Bram’s jaw is gonna be on. the. floor.” He removes his hands from my face to clap between the last three words, and I laugh, my nerves leaking away a bit.

“Seriously, though,” Justin picks up the eyeliner pencil again. “I believe in you, Si. You’re gonna look great, and I know you’re gonna feel great too once you see the whole ensemble come together. Trust me. Now, let me finish my masterwork on your face.” I dutifully close my eyes again, and he finishes the final strokes of my eyeliner before moving on to the bright red lipstick we borrowed from Kim.

“You’re gonna be a hit, baby gay,” Justin sets down his tools, sounding very smug.

“I don’t think I count as a baby gay anymore, Justin,” I laugh.

“You’ll always be my baby gay, honey,” he purses his lips at me and squishes my cheeks, carefully avoiding smudging any of my newly applied makeup. “Now, I’m gonna go get the wig from my room. Put on your dress and your heels and meet me in the living room in 2!”

I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans and take a deep breath, turning to Bram’s and my closet as Justin shuts the door behind him. The dress is hung up in a clear garment bag, and I can see the silvery sequins on the (short, wow is it _short_ ) club dress flashing through it. We’d all decided (after much deliberation, because apparently my Halloween costume decision was open to group debate), to go with classic, mid-00’s Taylor Swift. Nothing too complicated for my first time in public drag since childhood, it still followed my simple-and-badass rule, and it was an opportunity for Justin to get me a short, shiny dress like the one he had imagined for me that first morning everything came out. I really don’t think mid-00’s T-Swift would wear a dress that short, but Justin insisted, and I have to admit, its sparkly sequins look great next to the bedazzled high-heeled cowboy boots and the crimped blonde wig Justin got from one of his drag queen friends. I almost wish I had Nick’s guitar or something, to complete the look, but I wanted my hands free for the party (and for Bram).

I take another breath, get out of my normal clothes, and unpack the garment bag, feeling every inch of the cool, silky material of the inside of the dress slide against my skin as I slip it over my head. It feels kind of amazing, actually. I’m wearing compression shorts underneath, to try and keep everything as smooth as the dress feels ( _without_ tucking, Justin, thank you very much), and I’m idly wondering a bit how they make my ass look… I catch myself in the thought and blush. The silkiness of the dress is definitely doing something to me. I shake my head to clear it and sit back on the bed to pull the boots on over my socks— I still can’t believe Ivy was the one to find these fancy stiletto cowboy boots, but apparently she “knows a guy.” We didn’t ask.

And then, I can’t stall anymore. I have to look. I haven’t looked in the mirror since before Justin started my makeup, so I brace myself for what I’m sure will be a shock to my system whether I like the look or not, and I pivot my body to face the mirror, and…

Wow. Justin is right, I look… _hot_. Holy shit. I mean, I’ve got nothing on Bram still, of course, but I feel really _pretty_. Like, actually pretty. My eyes are such a bright shade of grey ( _moon_ -grey even, thank you, Bram) with the sharp, black, cat-eye liner Justin did, and my lips actually have a shape with the red he painted on… I suddenly can’t wait to put the wig on, like I just _know_ that those crimped, blonde, early T-Swift curls are going to fit _perfectly_. I run my fingers through my actual hair, tousling it a bit to try and get some sort of effect, and I find that I like that too. Without the wig, I’m not Taylor quite yet, I’m just… Simon. Simon, in a short, sparkly dress, and stiletto-heeled cowboy boots, and beautifully done makeup, and… as I pan up my own image hungrily, I realize I’m absolutely beaming and I didn’t even notice.

Oh, yeah. Bram is gonna freak.

I practically skip to the door, giddy with excitement, and make my way to the living room, luckily without breaking an ankle— I’ve practiced with the heels, so I know how to walk in them, but I’m still not _that_ used to being up this high. When I reach the couch, Justin is holding up the wig for me, but I’m not looking at him yet. Bram stands in the doorway to the kitchen, and he looks absolutely speechless.

I do a small twirl and a sort of “ta-da” motion with my hands, but Bram’s totally quiet. My newfound confidence wanes a bit with his silence, but it doesn’t disappear completely, because he seems like he may have just frozen— and, yep, his jaw has indeed dropped. Justin was right (as always, he would say). I can feel myself blushing underneath the makeup, and I have to break the silence.

“So…” I step closer to him to try and prompt a reaction other than shock, “what do you think? Enough sparkle? Do these boots make my legs look any better? I don’t have soccer calves like you, but—”

At this, Bram seems to break out of whatever trance he was in and gets a really intense look in his eyes before stepping up to me, cupping my face, and staring directly into my soul with a _very_ different vibe from the way Justin was doing practically the same thing earlier.

“Simon… you are the most _gorgeous_ person I have ever seen,” he murmurs, and his eyes flick down to my lips.

I have to be honest; I melt.

I loop my arms around his neck to lean in close and press my lips to his, which immediately open to let me in, and I think I can almost hear Justin fake-whining, “you’ll ruin your lipstick!” but I can hear the smile in his voice and I know he’ll fix it for me before we go out.

I lose track of time a bit, and Bram’s hands might slip a little lower than they probably should when we’re in the living room with all our roommates, but it can’t last that long because my lipstick doesn’t have to be touched up _that_ much before we go. I only leave Bram for a minute while Justin fixes my face and helps me put on my wig, but I can practically _feel_ the heat his eyes are generating when he looks at me from across the room.

I don’t know how long we’re gonna make it at this party.

* * *

The townhouse is absolutely overflowing when we get there. Music pours out the windows, and the bass seems like it’s rattling the very foundation. Justin has his arms linked with Kim and Ivy’s and looks back at me to grin and beckon Bram and I in through the doorway with a head nod. I squeeze Bram’s hand and smile nervously at him, which he responds to with a kiss on my cheek and a whispered, _you can do this_. I straighten my shoulders and nod at him, taking comfort from his proud grin, and walk into the wall of noise that is this party.

We’re almost immediately pulled onto the dance floor by Kim as Justin shoves solo cups (how did he get those so fast?) into our hands. “Drink up, bitches!” he shouts, jumping to the beat and dragging us with him. I comply, laughing already, high on the energy of a hundred-odd people just having a good time. The drink is some kind of jungle juice situation, and the sticky sweetness of it sliding down my throat makes me shiver. Bram, pressed up against me by the sheer lack of space on the dance floor, definitely notices, and he wraps his arms around me from behind, solo cup still dangling from one hand.

“Do you know what drink Justin even got us?” Bram has to shout for me to hear, even though with my heels we’re basically the same height, and his mouth is right by my ear.

“No idea!” I yell back, grinning, “But be careful not to spill!” The drink is a bright, Kool-Aid red, and he’s wearing all white, having given in to mine and Kim’s very carefully crafted argument that Bram be an angel for Halloween (Point 1: Bram is an angel. Point 2: What other reasons do you need?). He even got feathery wings and a sparkly gold halo, though I must admit, my favorite part is his tight, _tight_ white jeans with rips all the way up his thighs. It’s a little Backstreet Boys, but still. _Very_ hot.

I’m brought back to the here and now by the song sliding into something by Lady Gaga and Justin absolutely losing his mind, pulling Kim and Ivy with him to get closer to the front of the crush of people. I giggle a little, already kind of feeling my mostly-gone drink, and move to follow before I get caught by Bram’s arm around my waist, pulling me back to face him. I shiver for the second time that night, intimately aware of Bram’s muscles beneath his tight white t-shirt.

“Let’s stay here,” he mouths at me, smiling a little wickedly for someone dressed as an angel, and takes my cup and his to discard on a nearby table. I raise my eyebrow at him as he reels me in, throwing my arms around his shoulders as I match his smirk.

“So, _Taylor_ ,” he teases into my ear, “you liking the party? Music up to your standards?”

“I don’t know, _Angel_ ,” I respond, trailing my fingers down the nape of his neck and grinning when I feel the goosebumps erupt, “Why don’t you show me a _heavenly_ time and we’ll see?” I’m already blushing before I end that sentence— I’m not nearly tipsy enough to not care about how ridiculous that sounded. Bram doesn’t seem to mind though, throwing his head back and laughing at my cheesy line before pulling me even closer and starting to move to the beat. My hips follow his, and although dancing is _really_ not my best skill, when I dance with Bram, it’s like something takes over, and I can just relax in a way I can’t if I try on my own.

I’m really feeling the bass in the song now, and as I twist my waist in towards Bram I start to notice how the material of my dress shifts and slides against my skin, catching and rubbing where I brush up against my boyfriend. I also notice that my wig is hot, and already kind of sweaty, and although the crimped curls are _super_ fun to shake around during “Hips Don’t Lie,” I’m looking forward to taking it off when we get home. The dress, however… the song shifts into something else, and Bram’s fingers brush against the hem, hiking the dress up my thigh a bit before it falls back down, and my breath hitches. I want him to keep going, suddenly, to push the dress up more, and I feel a little overwhelmed with the feeling, so I turn around in Bram’s arms, pressing my ass into the front of his jeans. I feel more than hear a sharp inhale from Bram, and he hugs me closer, hands tightening on my hips. My hand flies up then, almost involuntarily, to clutch the back of his head, and I weave my fingers into his curls and scratch a little, the way I know he likes. Bram muffles a moan into my neck, and I shudder from the sensation, my knees going a little weak.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, darling,” he growls, actually _growls_ , into my ear. I didn’t even know Bram was capable of growling.

My knees get weaker.

I lose track of time, as I often do when I’m with Bram, purely focused on grinding back onto him, moving with the music, and desperately trying to ignore the fact that this dress is only slightly loose on me and everyone at this party can _definitely_ tell how turned on I am, until I’m yanked out of my trance by a particularly hard thrust with the beat from Bram that has my mind spinning, and I whirl around in his arms, bypassing eye contact to speak straight into his ear.

“Bram,” I try (and fail, I think) to hide the desperate whine creeping into my tone, “If you don’t take me to find the nearest unlocked door in this fucking house, I’m gonna do something drastic.”

I can feel Bram’s fingers clutch my hips tighter briefly before he pulls back to frantically nod at me, quickly taking my hand and pulling me along behind him as we escape the dance floor. Luckily, after trying two obviously already occupied bedrooms and passing the longest line for a bathroom I might have ever seen, we get to what looks like some kind of office, blessedly empty, and with a _couch_. Maybe God does exist.

Bram shuts the door behind us and immediately presses me up against it, hands sliding down to palm at my upper thighs as he captures my lips with his. I let out a sound I can only describe as a whimper, and Bram takes the opportunity to curl his tongue against mine. I loop my arms around his shoulders and cling as he takes me apart with just his mouth. His hands are also moving against me, dipping under my hemline in higher and higher increments as the minutes tick on. My hips are just helplessly jerking against his at this point and I truly think I might be about to come in my fucking spandex before a loud, heavy _thump_ against the door breaks us out of our rhythm and we stumble back together.

“Is anyone in here?” a high-pitched, giggly voice calls, and I want to _scream_.

“Yes!” Bram replies, sounding annoyed (and looking _very_ flushed, I notice).

“Oh, sorry!” The voice doesn’t sound sorry at all, it sounds like it’s laughing, and I roll my eyes as Bram crowds me up against the door again, albeit more cautiously this time. I’m more aware now of the large amount of people outside this (unlockable, fuck, really?) door, and I can feel my body stiffen a bit with nerves, but then Bram lowers his mouth to my collarbone and nibbles a bit, and I’m almost fully distracted again. But now I’m also thinking about how much better this would be if we were horizontal, and that couch doesn’t look nearly big enough for us to lie down comfortably, and—

“God, fuck, I wish we had a bed or something in here,” I pant out, clutching Bram to my neck to make sure he keeps going.

“Fuck, I wish,” Bram mumbles into my skin, giving me a sharp suck underneath my ear that makes a high-pitched whine build in my chest before he stops suddenly and pulls back, prompting an actual whine to tear out of my mouth against my will.

“Wait, baby, duh,” Bram looks like he’s having an epiphany. “We literally have a bed. Let’s just go home.”

It doesn’t fully compute for me at first, and all I can say, stupidly, is, “We only got here like half an hour ago though.”

Bram leans in close to make direct eye contact with me— his pupils are completely blown out, fuck— and says, lowly, “I don’t give a shit.”

I can feel my head nodding before he even finishes the sentence and reply, “Yeah, yep, ok, leaving, yes please.”

Bram grins and pulls me away from the door to get it open, hand on the small of my back to guide me through it and down the hallway. I’m relishing in it a bit and don’t even realize until we’re halfway back to our apartment that we probably should have found Justin, Kim, and Ivy and told them we were leaving. Bram and I are both definitely rushing a bit, so I slow him down and pull my phone out of his back pocket (according to Justin, the boyfriend not wearing a dress at any given party is required to carry the other boyfriend’s phone in his pocket. Bram is fine with it because it means me touching his ass when I get my phone from him. I am also fine with it for that reason).

“We need to text the chat that we left,” I explain, and Bram nods, understanding but still impatient, and I type a quick, _hi don’t rush home were leaving c u later_ , which Bram laughs at.

We’re actually at our front door by the time we get anything back, and I see that Justin, Kim, and Ivy have each sent a single eggplant emoji and nothing else, those cheeky assholes.

_They’re not wrong though_ , I think, as Bram pulls me, quickly, all the way through our apartment and back to our bedroom. As soon as the door shuts, though, and we’re back in our quiet space that we’ve created for ourselves in the midst of city noise and homework and adult responsibilities, the urgency of the past hour or so disappears. Bram takes my hands in his and presses a kiss to each of my knuckles, melting my heart like whipped cream on a stack of fresh waffles.

“You’re much too cute for your own good,” I whisper, and Bram winks.

“Look who’s talking,” he whispers back, letting go of one of my hands to run his thumb along my cheek. I duck my head, and he tilts it back up with a knuckle like we’re in a goddamn romcom. I love him so much.

“By the way, I’m so proud of you for tonight, Simon. You looked fucking _hot_ ,” he rakes his eyes over my body and I shiver, “but you also really embraced wearing Halloween drag again, and I know how hard that was for you. I hope it was everything you needed, even if we were barely at that party for an hour.” He looks a little sheepish at that last admission, but I have no regrets, and I tell him so with an accompanying kiss.

“I do kind of want to take this wig off, though,” I admit, pulling away before we get too heated again, “it’s very sweaty under here.” Bram laughs and helps me unstick it from my forehead before laying it carefully on the dresser for me to give back to Justin later. I also kick off the boots, cute as they are, because my heels are just starting to ache and I’m pretty sure that only gets worse over time.

Which leaves me, of course, in only my dress and some makeup. Bram is taking off his wings, halo, and shoes as well, and I must let out an appreciative noise when he bends over to get his converse off, because he looks back at me with a raised eyebrow. I just shrug, unashamed, and he smiles and shakes his head at me.

Once all our accessories have been dropped unceremoniously onto a chair in the corner, and Bram has given me a _look_ like he wants to get back to where we were before we left the party, I place my hands on Bram’s chest and push him gently until he’s sitting on the bed, with me standing over him. I’m nervous for some reason, even though we’ve done this a thousand times before, but I focus on the silky feeling of my dress against my chest, and it reminds me of the slide of fabric between us against that office door…

A little desperate to get back to where we were as well now, I tug Bram’s shirt off in one yank and toss it aside as I sink down onto his lap, circling my arms around his neck. He places his hands gently at my waist and tugs me closer so we’re better aligned, then angles his face up to kiss me.

We kiss and kiss and kiss, tugging at each other’s lips and licking and nipping and our hands start wandering, mine exploring the expanse of his bare back and his leaving my waist to trace along my thighs. He pushes up the hem of my dress again, further than before at the party, and I unlock my lips from his to throw back my head and moan out loud.

“Do you like that, darling?” Bram asks, pushing the hem up even more. The dress is basically just a shirt at this point, and I’m surely straining against the revealed spandex. Bram sounds like he’s in awe. I just nod frantically in response, I can’t even get out the word _yes_ , I’m so on edge. The dress bunches up my torso and the excess fabric slides wonderfully every few seconds against my nipples, which harden more and more as the silk brushes them. My desperation from the inconsistent friction is only added to when Bram moves from shoving the dress up my thighs to cupping my ass, kneading it through the material still constricting me.

“God, please fuck me,” I manage to get out, and Bram doesn’t even wait for me to finish the sentence before he’s flipping us so my back is on the bed and he’s hovering over me ( _god bless Bram’s soccer muscles_ , I think deliriously). I move to shove down my shorts while he leans over to grab the bottle of lube in our bedside table, and I soon start internally cursing whoever invented spandex as my fingers slip against the fabric. Bram seems to be having a similar problem with what remains of his costume as he falls over next to me, lube forgotten, fumbling with his own pants.

“Why did we wear such tight clothing!” Bram bursts out in frustration as he struggles to wiggle out of the white jeans from his horizontal position, and I giggle at him even as my mouth waters once he gets the pants halfway off and I can see the wet spot quickly growing on his underwear. I toss my shorts off the side of the bed, now completely naked except for the dress shoved up above my hips, and lean back to admire Bram discarding his own pants and briefs. Bram notices me looking and strikes a silly pose, making me laugh again before he crawls back over me, this time with lube in hand as he asks me if I’m ready.

“Always,” I murmur at him as I spread my legs wider, holding my knees back for him.

“Fuck, you look so beautiful, Simon,” Bram whispers half to himself, sounding almost awestruck. He wets his hand with slick and delicately drags one finger down from the base of my dick, making me close my eyes and keen.

“You sound beautiful, too,” Bram adds reverently before slowly pushing a finger in. I pant and moan when he pushes in and out shallowly, letting me adjust before he does anything more. I nod at him to continue after a bit, consciously relaxing my muscles and letting myself just _feel_ his knuckles pass against my rim, catching in the most amazing way. I lose myself in Bram’s fingers, the tender way he curls them and hits all the right places, the control inherent in the way he spreads and scissors me open for him. He talks to me the whole time, too, and through my pleasure-filled haze I catch little snatches of praise like “prettiest I’ve ever seen” or quick instructions like “tilt your hips right there— yeah, so good, baby,” and I bite my lip against a smile as I think of how nervous and shy we both used to be when we first started trying things in high school. Now look at us: me, on my back and spreading my knees apart for my dirty-talking boyfriend who is currently three fingers deep and counting. Amazing.

Bram adds more lube and a fourth finger and I can’t take it, I need more. I wait for him to stretch me a bit further, rocking into his hand, and when I know I’m ready I get his attention, prompting him to look at me. I have an idea.

“I wanna ride you,” I gasp out, my hips still moving in little circles around his fingers. His eyes widen a bit, and he quickly nods, pulling out carefully (I still whine at the empty feeling it leaves behind) and scrambling to wipe excess lube off his fingers, almost knocking the whole open bottle off the bed in the process. We’re both giggling as he saves it from splattering on our floor, and the laughter lasts even as we position ourselves so Bram is laying back against the headboard and I’m straddling him. I lean down to kiss him, spare giggles still escaping, and Bram meets me halfway.

“I love you,” I mumble into his mouth, grinning.

“Love you too,” he mumbles back, pecking my cheek with a smile.

The giggles fade as I swipe some lube onto my palm, take Bram in my hand, and position myself. Bram helps steady me with his hands on my hips as I sink down onto him slowly, letting out a low moan as I feel him split me open. He prepped me well, but Bram’s not small, and I feel so _full_. Not only that, but as I start moving up and down, getting used to the feeling, my dress is still ruched up around my chest and the silky fabric brushes against my nipples with every other movement. I’m going insane with the constant stimulation, and I have to reach out and brace myself on Bram’s chest.

“Fuck, I can feel you so deep like this, Bram,” I pant out, and he answers with a long, low groan, gripping my hips tighter so he can start moving up to meet me with his own hard thrusts. Soon enough, the only sound filling my ears is the slap of our skin coming together with each push, and the high-pitched squeals I’m making with every downstroke that I would probably be totally embarrassed about if I wasn’t having the time of my fucking life. God, and I’ve been so on edge all night, I’m definitely going to come soon if Bram hits—

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” I shout as Bram nails my prostate with a particularly well-aimed push, and continues to angle himself there, hitting it again and again and I can’t take it anymore, I can’t, I can’t, “God, Bram, please, touch me,” I beg, and he _does_ , he wraps a hand around my cock and strokes, twisting his wrist at the top and he never stops thrusting even though he’s only balancing on one hand at this point, and when I come, I _scream_.

I blackout from pure orgasmic bliss for a second, and when I come back to my body from whatever astral plane I just ascended to, Bram is burying his face in my neck and bucking his hips up into me, spilling inside of me like he belongs there (he does).

He finishes, panting, and pulls away, and that’s when I notice my _come_ all over his face. My jaw drops a little, but Bram doesn’t seem bothered, swiping a bit off with his finger before _licking_ it, because he’s obviously trying to kill me. My spent dick twitches in my lap and I wince, unsticking my hands from his chest to use them to pull his own away from his face.

“Holy God, Bram, you can’t do that, have mercy on me,” I admonish, to which he laughs and wipes the rest away without consuming it and permanently ending my existence. He uses a tissue and tosses it aside before helping me ease off him, which earns another wince. I will absolutely be feeling that tomorrow.

I collapse next to Bram, feeling his come start to leak out a bit, and I make a face. “We should really clean up,” I say, but I’m already yawning. I should also really take off my dress, which is now basically glued to me with sweat and come.

“We really should,” he agrees, also through a massive yawn.

Neither of us move.

Instead, we float in a tender, post-orgasm haze for a few minutes, cuddled close to each other, until I just can’t stand the gross, sticky feeling in my ass anymore and I make Bram get up with me and shower. We’re way too tired to start anything more in there, so we just remove my dress, take off my makeup with Justin’s wipes, and run washcloths over each other like we’re old and married.

Once we get back to the bedroom I realize that we didn’t even get under the covers before, so the duvet is absolutely disgusting.

“We are animals,” I state matter-of-factly, hands on my hips, staring at the mess we made. Bram has a solution, though, which is taking the duvet cover off to wash in the morning and just going to bed under a bare comforter and the (surprisingly clean and untouched) sheets. I point out that Justin, Kim, and Ivy are definitely going to make fun of us when they see us heading to the basement laundry with only our duvet cover, but Bram makes the excellent point that they will make fun of us regardless, so we might as well leave the chore to the morning.

My boyfriend is so smart.

We curl up in bed facing each other after turning the lights out, duvet successfully detached and discarded. Bram kisses me gently.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I’m proud of you. I’m happy I get to sleep next to you every night.”

I have to kiss him again for that, so I do.

“Don’t make me cry,” I tease, but he might actually do that if he keeps talking. “I love you too, darling. You’re perfect for me.”

His nose scrunches up when he smiles, and I have to close my eyes or I will be absolutely overcome with emotion, and we both should really go to sleep. He huffs out a soft laugh, totally aware of what I’m doing, and kisses my forehead before settling into his pillow and actually going to sleep. I open my eyes when I’m sure his are closed, just so I can watch him a little. The way Bram falls asleep is really cute. His face relaxes slowly, one centimeter at a time, and he always curls up tight into this like, parenthesis shape. I trace the contours of his face with my eyes and reach out to hold his hand between us. Fuck, maybe I really will cry, and he didn’t even say anything. He just… exists, being all beautiful and soft and amazing, and I’m almost tearing up.

I wish I could go back in time, sometimes, during moments like this, and tell my younger self that he’s going to be ok. I imagine telling him about Bram, about how wonderful he is, and how special, and how I live in New York with three other amazing, _queer_ roommates, and… and how I wore a dress to a party tonight, and it felt perfect. _Young Simon would probably not be ready to hear what happened with the dress_ after _the party_ , I think to myself, blushing a little even though Bram is fully asleep and won’t be asking me what I’m thinking about. Still, though. I sigh a little, smiling, watching the way my breath tickles Bram’s sleeping face and his nose scrunches up the tiniest bit again. It would be great to be able to convince that small, scared, closeted little boy that his future holds only wonderful things. It would be great to convince him that he grows up to be the luckiest guy in the world. Now, though, I’ll settle for knowing it today, and tomorrow, and the rest of college, and then the rest of our lives.

I snuggle closer to my beautiful, passionate, extraordinary boyfriend, and I fall asleep with a smile on my face.

**Author's Note:**

> It seems I am incapable of writing porn without feelings… Thanks to anyone who has read this series (which is over 9k what), and indulged me in exploring an idea I just couldn't let go. Happy Halloween <3


End file.
